Beginning
by UnsightlyDreams
Summary: A word to the wise: I had every intention of stopping the deaths. Now if only Gaara and his damn bloodlust would get out my way. (OC Insert)
1. Chapter 1

My new father didn't want me.

And how did I know that?

Well, it was obvious, really. The moment I left the comfort of my warm, snuggly blanket and was ushered into hard, cold arms, I spied a blurry face above me, the features contorting into a grimace. Being a mere baby, my eyesight wasn't great. In fact, it was even _worse_ than it'd been in my previous life. But the way he had all but thrown me back into the nurse's arms and rushed out of the room, slamming the door on his way was telling in itself. Behind us, my new mother let out a long, pitiful wail, and I felt the nurse run towards her, cooing in some vague language.

Confusing?

Yeah. It was, especially for me. So let's backtrack a little.

My most recent memory was of being sequestered in the dark. The impact of a huge truck, and then instant darkness. I remember moving, only to find that I, as a physical entity, didn't quite exist. There was no _I_. There was _Us_.

A medley of confused souls, the brushing of different consciousness. At first, I had tried to shun myself from them, stay far away from the keening cry of a lost teenger, the worrying apathy of a murderer, the wails of a child.

But there was _nowhere_ to go.

The murderer slithered in, circling me like one would his prey. The teenager screeched at him, cursing his very existence. The child cried. More souls, more people, more of _Us_.

And then I was _ripped_ away, the tear screaming through the dark, and my terror turning into a solidified mass of dread as I tried to stay on. They pulled me away from the warmth, straight into a confused mess of _pain_ and _hurt_ and _terror_ and _fear_. I went from being formless, to being squeezed inside a narrow tube, accompanied by screams and the _redredred._

Then I opened my eyes and saw the new world.

The whites of a hospital, the browns of the skin. Colors, pretty, pretty colors. Then a shining light above our heads. And I thought: _This_. This is my redemption.

I moved towards it.

And I couldn't move at all.

The realization of rebirth was something I accepted easily. After all, why not? I had read the books. I had seen the movies. The documentaries. Sometimes, a dead soul came back, found his lost bones. Sometimes, a child gained memories and then lost them. Sometimes, weird things _happened_.

My new mother clutched me to her bosom, still dripping fat, salty tears onto my neck. My tiny fingers wiggled uselessly, my soft skin felt every scratch of her worn smock. Somewhere, the nurse still tittered, petting my soft head. Somewhere, the doctor took notes, worried that the child wasn't crying anymore. Somewhere, a father screamed his rage at the walls, upturning tables and smashing walls with superhuman strength.

"Natsuki Haneda," My mother lifted me up, staring straight into my rapidly blinking eyes, and followed it up with some words in a gibberish language that sounded familiar. In fact, after she'd finished speaking, I had started connecting the dots.

Japanese. I was now _Japanese_.

I sent a quick prayer to the Gods above, hoping I wasn't smack in the middle of a World War, unaware that I was in a time, in a place far, far worse.

Natsuki Haneda is me, and this is _my_ story.

 **{Z}**

To the untrained eye, I was simply a quiet child. Odd, a bit. Sometimes, I looked at people for too long. Held out my chubby hands to their lips as they spoke. The very-observant ones could even notice the way my small mouth would curve and twist, as if tasting the words. My hands were always moving, my feet constantly kicking. In fact, one could even say I was trying to gain _control_ over my own body.

Which I was, obviously. In one life, I had been called a control-freak.

We were discharged the very day after I was born. I remember being conscious of the growing wind, the sand particles hitting my face even though my mother had cocooned me tightly inside a growing bunch of rags. And the heat – oh, there was no respite from the heat. The sun was a constant, an overhead spectre that refused to go away. Then I was being jostled up the stairs, carefully placed on a soft bed and then stripped of all those unbearable rags.

We soon fell into a routine, my new mother and I.

She lay beside me often, constantly tracing the contours of my face and my body. Sometimes, she'd coo to me in Japanese, giggling when I'd turn towards her in interest. I was a bit surprised to feel the nudge of a milk bottle on the second day itself, but accepted it readily. I was perfectly okay not sucking at her breasts.

Sometimes, after my bath (which I was dutifully given twice a day) and right before my naps, she'd pick me up and dance through the house, singing in a pretty voice. Her black hair would fall over me, tickling my neck, and she'd laugh at my disgruntled look, nuzzling my stomach in happiness.

Sometimes, I would wake up to her crying.

She cried a lot. She would sit on our window-sill, staring out into the starry night and weep, often without even bothering to cover up her tears. It took me a surprisingly long amount of time to figure out why – _why_ was she like this.

Because Daddy dear had never come back.

Once it hit me, I felt a little more sympathy towards this odd woman, the one who loved me, and yet, sometimes looked at me as if she wanted nothing more than to _smash_ me against the walls. The way her fingers would stiffen, and then a tremble would rush through her, as if the very act of stopping herself took so much out of her. We had no visitors, it was just us. Well, at least none that I remembered. My memories of my first three months were a bit hazy. Weird, because people liked to _show off_ their baby, and yet, there was my family.

I spoke my first word when I was 1 years old. I took my time, sifting through the ones whose meanings I had figured out, carefully poising them on the tip of my tongue. Often, I practised them after she'd left the room. I had noticed my mother's worried frowns, the disturbing amount of baby books in the house, but I was adamant. There could be no error.

So when I looked at her that fine day, recalling the way she'd sometimes look at me in desperation, I said: "Dad."

The cup in her hands fell to the floor, and my mother gathered me into her arms, weeping.

 **{Z}**

There was something inside me, burrowing into my body, waiting to strike. At first, I had dismissed it. It was nothing, I told myself. Merely a reminder of a lost time, a murderer, a teenager and a child. Perhaps they had settled into my bones, companions of a long journey. Perhaps they were simply there, waiting, hiding in the corners, and then the child would emerge and immerse himself in his new mother, and the teenager would pout prettily, waiting for his time. And then the murderer would kill, coating it all in red.

Then I realized the energy was growing, and with growing difficulty, I swallowed my screams.

It was coiling beneath the surface, bubbling like molten lava, waiting to consume me from inside out. It was a wild, untamed energy. It shifted, and turned, and _breathed_.

Slowly, tentatively, I started _pulling_ on it.

At first, it fought back, tearing against my muscles. At first, I shifted into myself, crying lost tears. At first, we were at odds. And then, slowly, we became one. The energy melded, bright and beautiful, sinking deep within me. And I laughed as I called it to my fingers, wondrously touching the bright blue in my hands.

It was during the fifth time that my mother saw me.

She was quiet for a long time, and as I hesitantly pushed out my pooled hands, she flinched slightly, as if hurt.

Then she left.

I was only two and a half, a child. I heard the slamming of a door, and for a long, long moment, I refused to realize she'd left me alone in the house. I stood up, on unstable knees, and toddled down the stairs. By the time I'd reached the bottom, the front door had opened again and a strange man had stepped through.

The sheer _panic_ that surged through me left me gasping. I was odd – strange – weird – and she'd called the authorities. They'd take me away, lock me inside a strange room and experiment on me. I would be prodded, poked and pinched. My very vivid imagination easily supplied the disturbing images, the fodder being a lifetime of sci-fi and fiction.

The man was tall. He had two distinctive, red markings on the right side of his face, the only visible part of his head, with the rest being covered by his turban-like head gear and by a sheet hanging from it on the left side of his face. He was wearing strange clothes – strange, and yet so familiar. And as I stood there, face white, he turned to my mother and began shouting.

I caught only a few words – lied, told me, knocked, sense. They jumbled into one another, for he spoke far too fast for me to understand. I saw my mother discreetly wipe the corner of her eyes, her face screaming helplessness.

And then, suddenly, he was just _there_ , holding my face in his hands. This close, I could see his eyes were kind. "Natsuki," He said, slowly, so I would understand, "I am Baki. I am your Uncle."

The name was familiar. Too familiar. With growing dread, I lifted my hands, calling the blue back.

A light sparked behind Baki's eyes. He turned back to my mother. "It seems, Aiko, you've birthed a prodigy."

My mother laughed, the sound wet. Aiko. Aiko was her name. I'd never known. In my laziness, in my apathy, I'd never bothered.

"This." I said, stumbling over the word, as my heart thudded painfully in my chest. "This blue…?"

But I already knew the answer. With a sinking heart, I finally realized there was a band around his forehead, carrying a rather _distinctive_ symbol.

 _Fearfearfear_ coagulated in my blood, almost making me faint in shock. As such, my head turned woozy, and I leaned forward, straight into Baki's arms. The ninja chuckled slightly, lifting me into his arms. I was too busy worrying.

The main worry was: Where the fuck in the timeline was I?

And then: Oh god, I hope Gaara isn't a bloodthirsty psycho anymore.

Followed by: I don't want to die!

As the adults shuffled into the kitchen, I finally realized something important.

They thought I was a prodigy. An honest-to-God _prodigy_.

The color drained from my face once more.

I _knew_ what the villages did to their prodigies.

 **{Z}**

A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't do this. And yet, here we are.

This is not a story of redemption. Before you start being all worried, rest assured, Gaara doesn't look at her and fall in love or anything.


	2. Chapter 2

"No," I said clearly, letting the forehead protector drop to the floor. In the distant background, the sun was setting beautifully. Sadly enough, I was way too preoccupied to notice it.

"But Natsuki-chan -,"

"I don't wanna be shinobi, Baki," I muttered. Realizing it was pretty rude to let his forehead protector drop to the floor, I had bent down to retrieve it, but my pudgy legs had forsaken me once more.

I ended up on my butt.

Baki and Aiko exchanged uneasy glances. Then Mom stepped forward, rubbing my feet to alleviate the sting from the fall.

"Natsuki, honey, you'd make a very good ninja~"

I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "I don't wanna go to Academy."

Once again, the two adults looked at each other. Meanwhile, I patiently waited for them to connect the dots, tracing patterns all over my feet. After a long, long silence, Baki somehow figured it out.

"Okay. We won't send you to Academy. Alright?"

I nodded happily.

"Instead, I'll train you myself."

Well, about damn time, I thought happily, rising to my feet. As I rushed towards ' _Sensei'_ , I found myself giggling.

They were _crazy_ if they thought I wanted to go to Academy right now. It hadn't taken me long to figure out that the Fourth was still alive and running, and his wife was _not_ , which meant Gaara was already here. Sure, Baki might already be his sensei, but I was 99% sure he'd try his hardest to keep me away from him. No way in hell was I going to put myself within five meters of that insane kid.

Of course, I amended instantly, I had no qualms being best buds with him _after_ the Chunin exams.

Till then, however.

Yeah, _no_.

 **{X}**

I picked up the rotting fruit and frowned. This was perhaps my third visit to the market, and what I saw didn't make me too happy. Next to me, Aiko was busy haggling with the vendor, using several creative cuss words I had been certain to store in my brain.

In the meantime, I had come to the firm conclusion that Suna was a mess.

There was a lacklustre outlook to the whole village, exacerbated by the constant sandy winds that were inflicted on the village with a startling amount of frequency. People looked downtrodden and _tired_ , as if like was too much to deal with for the moment. I could even see several groups of ninja milling about uselessly.

It all added up to whatever I knew - Suna was suffering from an economic crisis.

All because Suna's contracts were now going over to Konoha.

Now, I had nothing against Konoha, apart from a deep-seated love because it spawned a bunch of absolutely kickass characters, but well… It wasn't like the people from Suna were evil or anything. So this treatment was just unwarranted and useless. Not for the first time, I thought about how much I hated politics. Just hated it so much.

"Natsuki-chan, here, eat this instead," Aiko all but snatched the bad fruit out of my hand to replace it with a shiny new apple. "You need to keep up your strength. You have training with Baki-kun today, yes?"

I nodded in response, pressing the apple to my side but not taking a bite. As soon as Aiko had looked away, I threw it in the general direction of the eyes that had been following my every movement. To his credit, the boy looked startled only for a moment before picking it up and running away. Mother, bless her blonde genes, didn't see a thing.

"C'mon dear," As she hustled me along, I made it a point to turn back and look at the dilapidated buildings, the general rot that hung around this part of Suna. Where we lived was a far, far better area, which made me think that Daddy, whoever the hell he was, was filthy rich. I pulled at my smock absent-mindedly, letting Aiko lead the way to the training fields.

It was only my second week of training anyway - the first had been spent with me looking down at Baki's tactics of convincing me to become a puppet-master.

Excuse me, but puppets were _creepy_ little shits.

So this time, Baki had Mum buy a set of shuriken and kunai, telling her that I could become a weapons master, maybe. I eyed his face with trepidation when we reached; he looked far, far too excited.

Prodigy, I reminded myself sourly, picking up the sharpened knife.

So ultimately, when it hit the tree five miles from the target, I couldn't help but fall to my butt laughing. Baki's face told me he had resigned himself to a long, tiring day.

 **{X}**

"Ne, Natsuki-chan, you have a good handwriting," Mum cooed as she witnessed my latest attempts to copy her perfect scrolls. She was, clearly, lying. My letters were nowhere near the perfection of hers, and yet, they were somehow graceful. I had realized earlier on that this body had _grace_ \- the type that was common on trained geishas. It took me a while to realize that I had been subconsciously imitating Mother, following her fluid movements and recreating them on this small body.

Which lead me to believe two things - either Mum was a trained kunoichi specializing in the arts of seduction or… she was a common whore.

Seeing by the way she was literate _and_ well-spoken, I was leaning towards the former, understandably.

I frowned at the sheets. "It's not good."

"It is, baby. Don't worry, you'll get better with age," She transferred me to the side slightly before picking up the sheets and replacing them with a huge book. "Now, do you remember everything I told you yesterday?"

"Suna and Konoha share a daimyo," I recited dutifully, picking on a sore on my leg, "Mum, are you a kunoichi too?"

She froze, if only for a moment. "Why do you ask, Natsuki-chan?"

"Curious," I mumbled, wincing when she snapped my hand away from my leg. "Baki says I'm a ..a natural, so I thought…"

"Your father," she said slowly, as if dreading the follow-up questions. Her eyes were suddenly too-bright again - the kind I associated with her mania. Sensing that she might just give in to the urge to smack me against the wall, I promptly dropped the topic like hot coals.

"Oh. I see." Then:

"How is it that this plus this is equal to seven, again?"

 **{X}**

The first time I saw the aftermath of Gaara's destructive tendencies, I was five, almost touching six. It was terrible - disastrous, wasteful, horrible, every other synonym I could even think of. I stood in the centre of the marketplace, watching ANBU run around like headless chicken. Baki had long since abandoned me to follow the Kage, with strict instructions to _run_ if the monster came close.

The monster, who I could spy in the far distance, shrouded in a tomb of sand.

To be fair, maybe - just _maybe_ , I could have changed something. Gaara didn't let Shukaku take over until Yashamaru had done his crazy stint, but even then - well, I _valued_ my life. I wanted to help people, I wanted to change this rotting mess, yes, but… In some things, I was selfish.

Even as I watched, a surge of dirty urchins came running out of their hiding spots, making a beeline for the abandoned carts and stores. Somewhere, a civilian yelled at the ANBU for help, but there was none forthcoming. The village had its own crisis to deal with.

"Oh man, this sucks!"

"Shut up, Kankuro!" A bossy feminine voice berated, but there were undercurrents of fear in her tone. "I'm sure Dad will manage…"

"Why do we have a crazy guy as our brother anyway, huh? Seriously! We're just gonna end up dying -,"

"I said SHUT UP!" She shoved him sharply, throwing him straight into me.

Amidst Kankuro's frantic apologies and Temari's sheepish face, I realized I had thrown myself straight into canon!Naruto's timeline.

"Hey! I know you! I see you around in the fields sometimes…"

Temari's eyes narrowed slightly, but she pushed Kankuro aside to take a long look at me. "He's right. You're Baki's niece, aren't you? Nanami or something?"

"Natsuki," I said out of habit, before realizing that I should probably leave - and _fast_ , at least if I wanted to avoid throwing myself headlong into canonverse. So I promptly rubbed my forehead abashedly. "Mum told me not to talk to strangers…"

"Eh?" Kankuro looked honestly confused by the statement. "We aren't strangers! I'm Kankuro, and this is Temari. We're the Kazekage's children."

"Strangers," I pointed out stubbornly, wrinkling my nose. It was extremely lucky I was still small; they probably wouldn't take offense to a child.

"What?! Look here, kid -,"

"Kankuro, shut up. Look at her - she's a baby." Temari's voice lost some of her brusqueness as she bended her knees slightly to look me in the eye. "How old are you anyway? You're a little young to be running around without your mother." Her pretty eyes flickered to the dust cloud far behind us. "Especially right now."

"I was on my way home…"

"A _child_?! She trains with Baki sometimes!" Kankuro erupted, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "Why isn't she at Academy like the rest of us, huh? What's so special about her?"

Throughout the conversation, beads of sweat had begun appearing on my brow. The whole scenario was jabbing at my preservation instincts. Every part of me wanted to run away - screaming too, if the need arose, but I needed, oh, I _needed_ to ensure they'd have no reason to remember me. I still wanted to be anonymous. I wanted to help, yes, but I wanted to be safe!

"I -,"

A rotten apple hit Kankuro's forehead. Startled, all of us turned around to see a ragtag bunch of children glowering at us. More rotten vegetables came soaring through the air, but surprisingly, none of them hit me. The children began yelled: "The monster's family! Kill the monster! Burn him!"

As Kankuro roared in fury and Temari pulled out her trusty fan, I slipped away between the commotion. The sun had sunk low behind us and the sounds of fighting had still not abated. Amidst my encounter with the siblings, Gaara had somehow managed to create a storm so intense that I could feel it even kilometers away. My steps, light and faint, hustled past familiar buildings until a stray hand grabbed my mouth and pulled me into the dark street.

I tried screaming, or biting my kidnapper's limbs, but nothing worked. It wasn't until I had been pushed roughly into the walls that I realized my attackers were children.

 _Mere_ children.

And somehow, that made them all the more dangerous.

I renewed my struggles, desperate to remember anything Baki had taught me (which, ironically enough, wasn't useful in regards to being mugged in a dirty alleyway at _all_.)

"Look, stop struggling," a feminine voice hissed into my ear, pushing my claws away from where I had been trying to scratch her, "We don't wanna hurt you. We just wanna talk!"

The words made me pause, which was enough time for the female to gracefully step away from me. In the dim light, I noted she had dirty brown hair and an even dirtier dress. She still had the attitude of a queen though. "About damn time," she sneered at me, looking completely unperturbed by the fact that I had assumed a standard defensive pose. "It's taken us this long to repay this debt - you better not take too long, Atsushi."

The boy next to her nodded. He looked similar, and pretty familiar. It took me a moment to realize he was the urchin I'd given an apple to a month ago. "Y-you c-could've been nicer to her, F-Fumiko," he stuttered, refusing to look at me. His hands fluttered nervously. "S-She's important."

Fumiko promptly snorted. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get on with it. We got her away from the terror twins, didn't we? That's nice enough for ya."

Her words, once again, made me pause. " _You're_ the one that threw those things at Temari and Kankuro?"

"Us and a bunch of other kids, yeah."

"W-we were t-trying to help."

A little surprised, I nodded. "Oh. Thanks. That's uh… pretty kind of you."

"It wasn't kindness!" Fumiko snapped, eyes narrowing. "Atsushi stupidly took that apple from you, so we had to repay the damn debt, didn't we?"

"It was nothing -,"

"Shut up, Princess."

"F-Fumiko-"

"An Akimoto doesn't take charity, okay?" Suddenly, she stepped forward, swinging her fists threateningly. "I swear, if you ever try to look down again on us, I'll -,"

But I wasn't really listening to her threats anyway. The name 'Akimoto' had rung a sharp bell in my head, and I gasped. " _The_ Akimoto? Famous seal-makers Akimoto?"

Fumiko snorted. "Famous, yeah. Famous and _poor_. We shut our shop down years ago. Nobody wants seals anymore."

It was a drastic decline from who they used to be, yes. Looking at the two, nobody could have guessed they were part of countless books and scrolls. The Akimoto were _famous_ \- famous enough to have once served Hashirama, or so my books had said, though I doubted it. Still. The enormity of the situation was _huge_.

Because there was an idea fluttering in my head, taking roots and delving into areas unexplored.

"Suna might not need seals anymore." My voice had begun trembling in excitement. "But the other villages! They could benefit -,"

"And you think we haven't tried that? Stupid sheltered child! The honored _Kazekage_ ," Fumiko all but spat the word out, "Has refused this. The Akimoto are to help only the Suna shinobi, but the Suna shinobi don't want any help! It's bloody ridiculous!"

I stared at her for a moment longer before coming to another conclusion.

"Are you good at seal-making?"

"Good? I'm the bloody best!"

"Oh, great." My voice had taken a cheerily bright tone. "You're hired, then."

In the light, I was sure my strained smile was blinding.

I could only hope Mum would agree to this strange agreement.

 **{X}**

 **A/N: Completely unbeta-ed. Shall be edited at a later date. *laughs awkwardly***

 **Review, pls, so I be inspired to write.**


End file.
